A Lot of Nothing

I’m sitting here on my couch this evening wracking my brain for something – anything – to write about.

I shouldn’t really say ‘anything,’ since if I weren’t exercising a modicum of discernment, I could write about all sorts of things that are parading through my brain. And that’s where the title of this post comes in: A Lot of Nothing.

There are, indeed, many subjects I could riff on this evening. The obvious, extremely low-hanging fruit, would be 9/11. I don’t want to write about 9/11, though.

If I did start writing about 9/11, I’m sure I’d go down the rabbit hole and rant at the way the first responders to that horrible situation have been treated by Mitch McConnell and the Republicans. And I don’t want to do that.

I don’t want to write about the fires continuing to burn in the Amazon.

I’m decidedly sad about the children being forced to live in cages in Arizona – beyond sad. Sad is such a pathetic emotion. I’m outraged. I’m disgusted. I’m furious, and I don’t want to say it, but I’m bordering on feeling heartsick over what these people are enduring.

But I don’t want to write about them. Or this issue. It’s just all so relentlessly awful.

Weather Anyone?

Yes, indeed. I could write about the weather. But no; I won’t.

You’re welcome.

An Awful Thing Tonight

I could write about something awful that happened during our walk tonight.

The sun was long set and Mama Killa (pronounced as in Spanish: the ‘ll’ being like a soft ‘y’ as in ‘yah’) was blasting her reflected light down upon us, even casting distinct shadows, as if we were illuminated by a spotlight.

Two vehicles – big ones – at least in the range of Suburbans, but possibly even Enclaves or Armadas (you do have to roll your eyes at the names of those beasts, don’t you?) – were barreling toward us from the direction of the park (High Rocks), which technically closed at sunset. We made sure Sheila and Spartacus (as well as our own carcasses) were well off the side of the road, and Karl had his flashlight with green flashing warning light in full display, just to be safe.

As the first vehicle approached, its headlight flooded the pavement in front of us and I suddenly saw a snake absolutely booking it across the road. It was slithering in characteristic ‘s’ fashion astonishingly quickly – but it was headed in the wrong direction. It was headed away from us, toward the grass on the opposite side, almost certainly because it didn’t want to share space with us and the pups. But that was the ‘long way’ across the road.

Just as quickly, I could see that the Armada was going to mow it down. I knew it. I could tell simply by the speed and momentum of both snake and vehicle that the serpent would get clipped by the Armada’s far tire – the one closest to the edge of the road where the snake was headed. I yelled out, but I’m certain that not only didn’t the driver hear me, but even if they had, they wouldn’t have had any idea why I was crying out.

Giving Us a Wider Berth

I’ve been telling myself all night that the driver didn’t see the snake. That I didn’t really see the truck move over to the right even more – just to make sure they hit the creature that was brilliantly exposed by the headlights splayed across the pavement and moving as quickly as possible to get out of the way.

Even Karl had the same thought, but couched it this way: “I’m sure they moved over just then to give us a wider berth.”

Yeah. Sure. We can tell ourselves that. (And even if that is the case, I feel bad that we frightened the creature and caused it to move into harm’s way.)

So…that’s what I was thinking about tonight. Life. Death. Random loss. Cruel indifference. A lot of nothing.

Geez, it’s nights like these that you all probably wish I had some ‘canned’ pre-written posts about kittens. Or clouds.

P.S. It was a garter snake – a decent size, about 12” – and I moved it into the grass at the side of the road, hoping its head injury wasn’t life threatening. I’m pretty sure I was fooling myself, but I wanted to give it a chance to survive if it could.

(T-807)